No Future But Itself
by sinkingsidewalks
Summary: "There's a snap, and before he even knows what's happened Fitz is screaming, a ripping pain tearing through his chest. It tosses her body away, like brushing dirt off a favourite sweater." Jemma's death because I am a monster


title is from the Emily Dickinson poem "the mystery of pain." look it up if you like

xx

There's a snap, and before he even knows what's happened Fitz is screaming, a ripping pain tearing through his chest.

It tosses her body away, like brushing dirt off a favourite sweater.

.

Rare sun shines through the window and falls across her bare back. Fitz grins through his sleepy morning haze and draws the tips of his fingers across her skin, connecting her freckles into a familiar constellation.

It's not Perthshire, but it is a little cottage in Scotland that's theirs if only for the week.

She mumbles in her sleep, about to wake, and instinctively she curls closer to him.

"Morning, Mrs. Fitz," his voice grumbles with sleep and his accent is a little deeper than it was before they arrived. Their happiness swims around the room like the sunshine.

Chuckling, her eyes blink open against the intrusion of morning light. Her hand reaches out and slips around his bicep.

"Good morning, Mr. Simmons."

.

There are too many of them. More than he has bullets in his gun. But it's okay.

He rushes the others through the door ahead of him then slams it shut.

.

"We can't change the future, Jemma."

He pulls her fingers between his hands, traces around the creases of her palm then worries the bottom joint of her ring finger, where an engagement ring would sit if he'd had the time to make her one.

A tear drips down her cheek. "You don't know that."

.

"We can't leave her."

The door is already shut, they're already taking off, she's already dead.

"Fitz." Coulson says with a hand on his shoulder in that voice he always uses when he's trying to be sensitive.

"No!" he shouts, pulls uselessly at the airlock. Pounding his fists against the unyielding metal.

"Let me out!"

Coulson and May exchange a look.

"Son."

Fitz collapses to the ground, fingers cold, chest hollow. Somehow he's forgotten how to sob.

Coulson crouches next to him.

"You have to think of your daughter."

.

"It's simple recon Fitz, don't worry." Coulson slaps him on the shoulder as he walks by. It does nothing to quell his fear.

"I don't like it Coulson."

The older man stops packing. Across from Fitz, he settles into what was once his Director Face.

"I know. I don't either. But she has to learn some time."

Fitz sighs. This isn't his choice and he knows it. He twists his wedding band around his finger.

"Fine, but I'm not staying behind."

Coulson nods and hands him a gun.

.

His skin slips against hers. Their sweat and breath mingle in the darkness. Nothing exists in the world except his body and hers.

She gasps his name, grasps his arm as his lips slide down the curve of her neck into the hollow of her collar bone.

If he was cut now, he'd bleed his love for her.

.

Daisy bounces to meet them at the door. Coulson tries to pull her away, distract her with words that no one hears.

Fitz stays slumped against the side of the machine. The one that he built, poured his whole mind, he whole being into, the only other thing to carry on his immortality.

She looks at him with eyes wider than the universe. With the eyes that Fitz has been meeting across labs and bedrooms and light years for decades.

Those eyes peer up and around at the broken team.

"Where's Mummy?"

.

He flips the ring over and over between his fingers.

It's nothing fancy, a simple band with a few stones set into the metal so she'll be able to wear it beneath lab gloves. He studies it for imperfections even though he knows there aren't any.

Jemma leans against the doorframe of their new makeshift lab.

"I've already said yes."

He startles, then grins.

She slips into the room and slides her fingers in a loose grip around his wrists.

"And I did technically ask _you_."

Fitz opens his mouth to protest, but shrugs instead, his smile too wide to argue.

She picks the ring up from his palm. "It's beautiful."

With two fingers, he takes it back. "Humor me?"

Her head tilts in confusion for only a second before he's down on one knee before her.

Third time's the charm.

.

His beloved Jemma Simmons slumps against the cold dirty ground, neck cracked to an angle that it should not make, her eyes glassed over and staring blank.

He would have hit the ground with her if it wasn't for May hauling him up. His feet stumble backwards. His mind screams that he can't go, he can't leave her like this.

She slips away anyways.

.

She's so tiny.

He's overwhelmed by it. To keep her cradled in his arm he has to tuck his elbow almost right up against his ribs.

They pace the hall together, just outside their room, trying to allow Jemma the peace to get some much needed rest.

Wide eyes blink up at him. They're a deep but clear blue, like his, although Jemma has already reminded him a thousand times that all babies are born with blue eyes.

"Good morning." He strokes his finger over the plump curve of her cheek and her lips part in a little yawn. "Little Daisy."

Her lips smack and he wonders if she's getting hungry. Then he wonders how he's supposed to know when she's getting hungry. Her little brow furrows and he tries to catalogue the expression for later study.

"Fitz?" Jemma calls from inside the cracked door and he takes two quick steps to return to their room.

"We're right here."

.

There's a moment, when the harsh artificial light hits her just right and it looks almost like she's got a halo around her head. His heart defies all logical science and stutters to a stop in his chest.

"Jemma, no!"

He's too late. He sees the manifestation of a child's drawing that was showed to him years ago.

The fabric of the universe rips apart.

.

The creatures overrun him. His back hits the wall. There's one bullet left.

He presses the gun to his temple. Brings to mind the last memory of her, the one he's been saving for a rainy day, where she's smiling, a flush in her cheeks, laughter in her eyes, on one of the few holidays they managed over the years. He can almost feel the softness of her skin beneath his calloused fingers.

And he pulls the trigger.

.

May hauls on his arm.

He might still be screaming.

xx

I hope this makes sense lol  
If you have any questions I'm around on tumblr at sinkingsidewalks

thanks for reading!


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